


Building Bridges, Trying Not To Drown: Frame

by relic_amaranth



Series: Building Bridges, Trying Not To Drown [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coping, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, POV First Person, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 23:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18082946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Learning how to ask for help is hard. For everyone involved.





	Building Bridges, Trying Not To Drown: Frame

**Author's Note:**

> ***Trigger Warnings: Depression, suicidal ideation, mention of self-injury (specifically cutting), thoughts of being nothing/worthless
> 
> General Warnings: Like the first one: jarring ups and downs; first-person PoV; jumping between past-tense and present-tense depending on scene; time and location are vague; also written in chunks over months and still kind of reads like it; angst with a hopeful ending
> 
> A/N: I wasn’t going to do any more for this premise. However the original version of the first ‘Building Bridges’ did have a couple of scenes with Bucky– notably at the very end. When I was actually putting the pieces together though, it felt weird to have what felt like Deus ex Bucky coming in and I had enough parts that I just excised the little bits with Bucky. And apparently gave it its own story ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I debated a whole bunch about how to connect these two. I thought I was going to add this as a chapter, but then decided I didn’t want to mess with the first one too much if the people who liked that one didn’t really dig this one, and linking them by titles and series seemed all right. Like the first go round, this is a little weird, so if you like it, wonderful, but if not, that’s okay too. I will warn that if you haven’t read the first part of the series, this might not make much sense. Please heed the warnings. And I have nothing else to say. <3

 

Someone was watching me.

Had been, for at least a couple of weeks. Not when Steve or Sam or Natasha were around, just when I was alone. It was a little creepy. Well, it had been, on my good days. At least I’d had a few of those.

But I was back again, staring out at nothing. Or everything. And I could feel that person watching me again. I turned my head and– there they were, just standing there in the open. I looked him over. He was tall and probably as buff as Steve, with dark hair, pale skin, and a black hoodie he was curled into. Considering my last meeting with a stranger at this bridge, I felt a little wary and considered leaving.

But he stared right back at me, then jerked his chin, like a greeting– or a goodbye– and turned and walked away.

That was…weird. I stared at that spot even after he was long gone.

“Hi.”

I turned my head to the other side as Steve plopped next to me. “See something interesting?” he asked and peered around me.

I thought about telling him. But I shook my head. The man hadn’t bothered me (yet) and Steve would just worry. And he was almost insufferable when he worried.

“Don’t you ever have to sleep?” I asked him and looked out at the water.

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t have to be alert to save people.”

“And I don’t need as much sleep as other people.”

“Hm.” The days without sleep always felt so long. “Is that a good thing?”

He was quiet for a few moments. “It depends on the day.”

I could understand that. I scooted closer and he looped his arm around my shoulder. It didn’t do much for me, but it felt like it helped him. And that mattered.

 

“You lied to Steve.”

I jumped and scooted away just as the man sat next to me. I was going to get up, but–

“How do you know that?” I asked. “Who _are_ you?”

He glanced at me, ice blue eyes peering through chin-length brown hair. Brushed, nice and fluffy hair, but in that moment he struck me as someone dangerous. Someone dark; or maybe he just had something dark he kept to himself. Like me. And he stayed pressed to the other side of the bench, his hands buried in his pockets. If he could have made himself curve away from me, he would have. I didn’t know why, but I was fascinated.

“Barnes,” he mumbled and looked away.

“…Bucky?” I asked.

He flinched at the name. My heart sped up. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“I know.” And there was a small part of me that didn’t care, but I quashed it for the time being. “Steve is worried about you.”

“I know.” He didn’t look at me but for a glance. “Don’t tell him.”

Easy enough. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine.”

He rolled his eyes. “Blackmail’s illegal, you know.”

Funny, coming from a former (?) assassin. “It’s not blackmail. It’s…mutual secret keeping.”

His lips twitched like he might smile, but it didn’t quite happen. That was okay. “Why did you tell Steve you were staying in?”

I wondered how he knew that, but I had to prioritize my questions. “I don’t want him to feel like he has to keep watch all the time. He worries too much.”

Bucky huffed and muttered what sounded like an agreement. And then he stayed for as long as I did.

My life was _strange_ sometimes.

 

I’m wired. Sort of. Strung out on sleeplessness and sorrow, I pace and fidget. I scratched my chest until it started to bleed, but it’s all surface, it all doesn’t matter, it’s nothing, nothing, I can’t fathom why I’m _here_.

I want to go to the bridge but I don’t. Outside feels like exposure I can’t handle. I can’t. I can’t. I _can’t_.

I feel eyes and they bother me. They make my muscles itch so bad I want to peel off my skin. I don’t want to go anywhere, but I do want peace. How long can anyone be expected to live like this?

The eyes stay. They’re not moving, he’s not coming, so I assume it’s safe for me to do what I want to do. I pick up my phone and type out a message for Steve.

Me: Are you awake?

But I don’t send it right away. I sit there and think about how stupid I am to even consider it. He has so much to worry about already and I’ve done this before; I’ll probably just wake up miserable and life will–

I squeeze my eyes shut tight and press send so hard that if I had any strength in my hand I’d crack the glass.

He doesn’t respond.

Instead, in what feels like only minutes later, he knocks on my door. I shouldn’t be surprised by now, but having not yet mentally prepared for this makes me freeze. He knocks again, insistently, and I figure out how to move my body again. I let out a breath. “One minute,” I say, knowing he’ll hear. I manage to get to my feet and I stumble over. It feels like it takes forever, but when I open the door he’s waiting patiently.

“Rough night?” he asks, like this is normal. Well…like running to your weird friend’s house in the middle of the night is normal. It’s not. Not even for us. I’ve never asked him for help before, but here he is, and I have no idea what to do next.

“Sorry,” I say and let him in.

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “I’m…I’m actually really glad you called.”

I look him over. He looks tired. I want to ask him if _he’s_ having a rough night, but my emotional quota is maxed out by my own bullshit. I still don’t know what to do. So I put on a movie. Steve sits in the chair and I sit on the couch and I pretend to pay attention to lights and sounds that slip right out of my consciousness the second they enter it.

I feel eyes on me again. It’s weird, because I hadn’t realized they left– Bucky must have gone at some point, because Steve is the one staring at me now, and it feels different. I look at him to see why and follow his line of sight to my shirt– oh, my chest, and the blood. Right. I’d forgotten.

“Can I…clean that up?” he asks.

I shake my head without thinking about it. “Sorry,” I say. “But touching is…no good right now.”

“Okay,” he says and nods like it really is okay.

But being Steve Rogers means finding loopholes, of course. He steals away to the bathroom and comes back with everything needed to clean and dress a wound. I watch him warily as he puts everything out neatly on the coffee table, but he retreats to his chair without laying a finger on me.

“Just in case you want to do it yourself,” he says, holds up his hands to make his point, and puts his eyes back on the screen.

A few minutes pass before I realize I’m calm enough and dried blood is fucking irritating. I pick up the damp rag and slowly work on cleaning it away. It stings. I feel it. I press down and feel it even more.

_Still here. Still here. Still here._

For better or for worse.

 Steve is no stranger to blood but I still fold up the rag to hide the stain of it. I do the same with the dry cloth when I’m done. And I feel tired, so I bypass the antiseptic and just start taping the gauze. Steve makes a noise of discontent and I respond with a little raspberry. He’s not the boss of me.

I’m just finished with my messy wound dressing when I hear buzzing. I look at my phone before I realize its Steve. He reads his screen, lets out a frustrated sigh, and looks at me.

“Go,” I say and toss the tape on the table.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve got enough on my plate without worrying about holding you up when people need you,” I say and stand. He stands but looks unsure, so I beckon him over for a hug.

He holds tight, and I deal with it. “You're people too.”

“And I called.” I pat his back. “It’s someone else’s turn now.”

He chuckles. “I guess.” But he doesn’t let go. “I don’t know how to say how gla– how _relieved_ I am that you called. But thank you. It means a lot that…you trust me.”

“I do.” I step back. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” he says and looks pointedly at the medicine and back at me.

“Come back and bug me about it.”

He smiles. “I will,” he promises, and leaves.

 

Steve’s still gone, so Bucky is free to sit with me. It’s cool, but not cold. I’m not okay enough, yet, and Bucky seems on edge too.

“Why don’t you want to talk to Steve?” I ask. Bucky’s silent for a minute. I don’t think he’s going to answer. Then.

“I gotta…find out who I am. Before someone else tries to tell me.”

That’s…fair. More than fair.

“So you don’t like to be touched?” he asks abruptly. He couldn’t be worse at changing the subject even if he started chatting about the weather, but I understand the impulse.

“Sometimes,” I say. “Sometimes it’s too much.”

“Hm.”

Silence again.

“Do you like touch?”

He hesitates. “I…don’t know.”

I leave it be. But over the course of the night I scoot incrementally closer, each time waiting and watching for signs of him shifting away. He doesn’t. So we end up sitting pressed together, shoulder to shoulder, until I’m ready to go home.

He walks me.

 

I had no idea what to make of Natasha, in any situation, ever. While Sam was friendly enough, the two times I had met Natasha– both while with Steve– I wasn’t sure if she just didn’t give a shit about me, or if she actively disliked me.

So it was a surprise when she sat down on the bench hard enough to make me jolt.

“You’re being watched.”

Oh. That.

Shit.

“Mm hm,” I said, because there was no point in lying.

“Do you know by who?”

“If he’s got brown hair and sad blue eyes for the ages then yeah. I know.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“He told me.”

“Is this you wanting to die?”

I frowned. I turned my head to look at her. “One: ouch. Two: no, not really. But what is that to you?”

She stared at me for a while, then let out a tense breath and faced forward. “He’s more careful now,” she said. “Steve used to…well, he’s still reckless, but he used to be more so. Jumping out of planes without a parachute, crashing vehicles. Nothing that was completely out of line, but anything to get the job done. He doesn’t do that anymore. He’s more careful, more trusting of other people to do their part. At the end, he actually wants to come home.”

“For Bucky,” I said.

“When we first found out he was alive, Steve searched for him incessantly. He and Sam,” Natasha said. “I’m sure he told you that. I don’t know if he told you why he stopped.”

He hadn’t, actually.

“He received a letter. From the So–” Natasha cleared her throat lightly. “From Barnes. It asked Steve to stop. Told him to let him find his own way, and that Barnes would find him when he was ready. Steve was upset, but understood. It left him adrift again though. Until he found you.”

She turned her head to look at me and I had to look straight out, I _had_ to. Even her stare felt like too much, and I gripped the bench seat while I filed that away for later. It was just so _much_. “Steve will never tell you this,” she said lowly. “But he places a lot of himself in you. He _sees_ himself in you.”

There was a lot to unpack there, and I wasn’t quick enough on the draw. She stood up. “One more thing,” she said and pulled up her shirt to show a scar on her stomach. Then she pulled aside her collar to show another ridged scar on her shoulder. She straightened out her clothes. “Barnes can’t trust his memories or temperament. And neither should you.”

She turned to leave, just as tightly wound as when she showed up. And that didn’t sit right. “Natasha.”

She stopped.

I fidgeted with the fabric of my pants. “If something happened…Steve _would_ be okay. It might be rough going, but he’d come through it. Because he has more than me to come back to. Even so, I’m trying. I’m trying.”

She was silent. “Keep trying,” she said, with all the quiet fervor of someone worried about their friend, and left.

 

“She’s right. About me.”

How he managed that without scaring me I didn’t know. But at the moment, I didn’t care. Food was…an issue. “I know,” I said. “Hey, are you hungry? I hate to waste food, but I’m not…”

Bucky leaned over and stared at the pot like he was going to start interrogating it. His face lightened slightly and he pulled back. “Split it?”

That, I could handle. I dished out two bowls and we went to sit at the table. He ate mechanically but steadily, like food was a job he just had to get through. I liked that idea– food as a task I could check off when completed– and I followed his example. I went a lot slower, but I kept at it. When he finished he sat and watched me until the bowl was nearly empty and I couldn’t eat any more.

“You’re as bad as Steve,” I said as he took the dishes to the sink.

“Other way around.” He stopped. “I think.” The water ran uninterrupted for a bit, then he shook his head, rinsed out the bowls, and stuck them in the dishwasher.

“Thanks,” I said as he walked past me to the window. “And for Mother Hen Rogers too.”

He smirked, saluted, and slipped out.

 

“I _hate_ hospitals.”

“Really? You never mentioned,” Sam said dryly and turned a page in his book.

I could sympathize. With both of them. Hospitals felt like sterile death and enclosure. However Steve was pretty bad off, which apparently meant he whined a lot, and even Sam was getting testy. I had arrived just as Natasha had stormed out, cursing under her breath.

Steve was quietly moody now and Sam rolled his eyes and looked at me. I glanced at the clock. It was getting pretty late. “Aren't you working tomorrow, Sam?” I asked. “Go home. I’ll stay.”

Sam glanced at the clock and frowned. “Okay.” He stood and stretched and stopped to give Steve a hug. He did the same with me. “You get some rest,” Sam said to Steve. To me he said, “You keep an eye on him.”

I saluted him and he left. Steve smiled at me, but within seconds he started squirming. I brought out my phone to try and find something with which to distract him. “You don’t have to stay,” he said, gasped in pain, and stilled. “I know I’m…”

“Difficult?” I suggested and downloaded a game.

“I’m pretty sure Natasha would phrase it differently,” he said as I pulled my chair right up next to him.

“She’ll be back tomorrow.” I leaned on the bed right next to his legs. “Wanna play ‘Hangman?’”

He did. So we did. Eventually his own body wanting to heal caught up to him and he dozed off. It was really late by then (technically early) so I plugged my phone in, folded my arms on the space where his body wasn’t, and leaned my head down just intending to rest my eyes.

 

The bed shifted and I sat up quick.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, sitting up and wide awake. The blinds were open to (indirect, thank God,) early morning sunlight. “I tried not to wake you.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean to fall a–” I looked from the window to him. “Did you _get out_ of _bed_?”

“No.” He held up his arms to show wires and IVs still in place. I examined them pretty closely. “Honest!”

“I opened the curtains,” Natasha said, sounding oddly…friendly. She was even smiling.

“Okay then,” I said and stood so I could stretch my poor, sore body. As I did, Steve jokingly grumbled about us while Natasha dug around in a plastic bag.

“Shut up Rogers,” she said and handed me something warm in brown paper wrapping. “You’re lucky to have us.”

Steve dropped the act as Natasha tossed food onto his tray, and he smiled fondly between us. “I really am.”

I chewed on my breakfast sandwich and thought about that for a long while.

 

It’s raining.

But it’s not exactly cold. So.

He thumps onto the bench next to me. I wonder if Steve _does_ know and just isn’t saying anything. It’s odd that Steve never even accidentally shows up at the same time.

“They have these things,” Bucky grumbles. “Called _showers_.”

I turn my head to look at him. His hair drapes over his face and he looks…disgruntled. Most of me doesn’t want to move. Part of me knows I’ll have to. Eventually. So I might as well get started.

It takes me a couple of minutes of trying to put myself together, but I manage to make myself stand. I step to the side, placing myself in front of him, and I extend my hand. He looks me up and down skeptically. “You look like a soft nudge can knock you down,” he says, but he takes my hand. He’s not wrong. It’s hard, even though he does 95% of the work, but in the end he’s up, I’m up, we’re both…up.

That probably means we have to start walking now. I sigh heavily and he chuckles.

“Want me to carry you?” he offers. I put most of my remaining energy into a look I can only hope properly conveys just how hard I will kick him if he tries. It just makes him more amused. Not that he smiles much, but you can still see it. In the eyes.

He extends his left arm. As I go to take it he flinches, like he’s just realized, but I wrap my arms around it before he can take it back. It’s actually nice– human contact without the constant, overwhelming _reminder_ of human contact.

But he doesn’t start walking. “That arm has done…so many things.”

I have to try and think. It doesn’t seem right to just pull away, like I’m repulsed. I’m not. And he isn’t doing anything to push me one way or another; he’s holding very still and letting me decide. I don’t know what to say, and honestly, I’m too fucking tired to even try and decipher whatever code will or will not upset–

Fuck; is this what Steve has to deal with when he’s with me? I owe him a fruit basket or something.

“Right now,” I say, “It is otherwise occupied.”

He pauses a second more, but apparently what I said isn’t so terrible, because he walks me home.

 

“What’s this for?” Steve asked in wonder. About the two boxes of chocolate-covered strawberries I’d picked up from the bakery, I assumed.

“For putting up with me,” I said, staring at a magazine because sometimes Steve got _so_ thankful sometimes that it was easy to feel overwhelmed. And I liked the moments when I could be perfectly whelmed, thank you.

“Aw,” he said and chuckled. “You really didn’t have to–” I did look up at him then and he put his hands up. “Sorry, uh, thanks.”

I nodded and turned my face back towards the counter. But I could _feel_ that look, damn it, and it made me itch. “They’re good.”

“They look amazing.” Thankfully he rustled the bag and the Eye of uWu Sauron left me. “What else is in here?”

“Something for Sam and something for Natasha.” I tore out a page that would fit well with the other pretty pictures I was starting to collect. I lifted my head to look at him, now that it was safe. “For putting up with _you_.”

Steve frowned at me. If he was expecting a reaction, he was going to be terribly mistaken. However he seemed to catch on to that, because he looked at the treats for Sam and Natasha, looked at me, and _smirked_.

A warning, a swat with my rolled up magazine, and a very real threat later, I was texting Sam that I had gotten him and Natasha something nice and if they didn’t receive their goodies then Steve needed to be shamed for eating them. Sam replied with the cry-laugh emoji, then–

Natasha: we’ll do more than shame him

I blinked.

“What’d’ey shay?” Steve, mouth full of chocolate and fruit, asked and leaned over to read it.

“I didn’t text Natasha, but she…” I checked. “I didn’t even have her _in_ my phone; how–” I put my head in my hands and breathed. I didn’t _like_ that. When I looked at Steve again I felt tired. “Your friend is scary.”

He was still chewing so he just nodded, and he held out a strawberry. I hesitated, because it didn’t seem polite, but I did end up taking it and I nibbled on it while Steve finished off the rest of them. It was good.

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky said even as he tore off the lid and dug into the cake.

I rolled my eyes. He and Steve needed to learn how to say ‘thanks’ and move on. “You had to listen to me whine, so it’s fair. How are you eating?”

“Fine,” he said nonchalantly while also stuffing his face. A feat. I shrugged, because it wasn’t like I could lecture anybody else on healthy habits. He was making it through– good for him.

“Gimme your phone.”

His right hand held a fork and was still in use for cake demolition. The other hand was held out in front of me. “Why?” I asked, but I took it out.

“I’ll fix it,” he said and swiped it out of my hand– and then switched hands with a curse.

“No fingerpads?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled as he tap-tapped away. It was less than a minute later that he handed me back my phone. “Here. She can’t do whatever she wants now.”

I took a breath to thank him, and received a text.

Natasha: spoilsport

I looked at Bucky. He waved a hand at me and kept picking up crumbs. “You can block her if you want.”

I shook my head and went through my options. I settled on the angel emoji as a reply.

Natasha: be careful

I sent a thumbs-up emoji.

Natasha: ur as bad as steve

I searched for a good gif that would portray laughter while also not provoking her to hurt me. Life was a very delicate balance indeed.

Natasha: god  
Natasha: if u ever want to die, go ahead and teach steve how to use gifs

I laughed hard enough to startle Bucky into dropping his plate.

 

I came home late and stumbled over something in my entry. It was big and heavy and–

A body. A body of someone bulky covered head to toe in black, and gear, and my heart flipped. “Bucky?” I gasped and kneeled “B–” I got right back up.

Not Bucky.

“Easy,” Bucky said softly, coming around the corner and only partway out of the shadows. “And don’t turn on the light yet. I gotta do a check.”

“A check.” I couldn’t help but stare at the– “Are they…”

“He’s alive.” Bucky picked him up and exposed a tear in the shoulder of the person’s shirt. There was a tattoo I had to squint at, until Bucky shone a small light on it.

“Is that an octop– oh.” I stood up. “ _Oh_.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said quietly and turned off the light. “I’m almost certain there’s nothing. I’m just being careful.”

“Are you okay?”

“He’s nothing. Didn’t even see me coming.” Bucky stepped back. “Wait a few seconds after I’m gone, then turn on the lights and go about your business. I’ll be back soon.”

‘Soon’ was a very relative term, apparently, because Bucky didn’t return for an hour. When he did he knocked on the door and spoke so I knew it was him. As soon as I let him in I asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, still fine,” he said and gave _me_ a look over, like I was the one taking out Nazi spies. He frowned deeply, sighed, and stared at some vague spot to my left. “They’re scoping you out; I think they’re just curious. This guy had orders not to engage, no matter what.” He looked right at me. “But you have to tell Steve.”

That seemed reasonable– however. “What do I…how do I…”

“Tell him what happened, what I told you.” He looked away again. “That _I_ told you.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “They’re not out to waste resources they don’t have– and I keep making sure they don’t have many– but they’re not harmless. Steve will know how to keep an eye on it.”

“Okay…okay…” I sighed. That was _not_ going to be a fun conversation, but I felt nervous in my own home, the one place I was supposed to be safe from the outside. I shoved all of that aside for Future Me to deal with. Bucky looked stricken too. I said his name and he only grunted.

“Can you…will you stay for a while?” I asked and reached slowly to touch his sleeve.

He responded by grabbing that hand and pulling me to the couch, where he sat pressed right against me, shaking slightly but consistently. I wrapped my arms around him and he seemed okay with that, but he trembled for a _long_ time.

In the early morning hours, during one of the many points I woke out of an unrestful sleep, he sighed _very_ deeply. “I’m not looking forward to this.”

I could only grunt my agreement.

 

Bucky was gone before the sun rose and I got a couple of fitful naps in before I gave up and called Steve to see if he could come over. Of course he was with Sam, just about to go to lunch, and of course he ignored my insistence that I would _wait_ and _no_ he _didn’t need to bring me lunch Steve stop please._

“I’m so sorry,” I told Sam and poked at my sandwich.

“If you don’t want me here you can just tell me,” he said with a bright smile as he unwrapped his food.

“No, it’s not–” I held out my hands. “My house is not exactly a place full of fun times and good company.”

Mouth full, he shook his head. And then he _spoke_. “You' not half as-h bad as-h you fink you a-h.”

“I…could have lived my entire life without seeing that,” I said. “Wow.”

“Terrible manners,” Steve said.

I looked right at him, the master of terrible manners. “Sure sign that he spends too much time with _you_.”

Steve protested, Sam laughed, and lunch went on. Despite my nerves, I ate all of my food. That was surprising, given the amount of guilt I could feel in the pit of my stomach at having to ruin a perfectly nice afternoon.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked and leaned against the counter.

“I’m okay. I’m…” I took a deep breath. Moment of truth. Literally. “I have something to tell you and, for once, it’s not what you think. It might sound worse, but…it’s…”

Steve said my name gently. “It’s okay.”

“You're going to be mad at me for part of it, but um, here’s some necessary backstory.” I took a deep breath. “So. Bucky’s in town.”

Steve gave a slight nod. “In his letter he said he would mostly stay cl–” Steve jerked. “Wait, you– you saw him?”

Oh boy. “He comes around. Sometimes.”

“Here?” Sam asked.

“And the bridge. Sometimes.”

Steve took a breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I shrugged. “I told him you wanted to see him. He said he needed time to figure out who he is on his own. I…respected that.”

Steve went through emotions so fast I couldn’t even name them. Eventually he sighed. “I…okay.” He rubbed his face. “Okay. How–…how does he look?”

“Fine, I guess,” I said. “He’s clean and he eats. Looks more stable than me, which really isn’t fair considering all the reasons he has to not be.”

Steve managed a little smile at that. Sam looked serious though, and when Steve opened his mouth, Sam was quicker. “You said that was backstory. Backstory for _what_?”

I looked down. “Last night I came home and someone was lying on my floor. I got worried, I thought at first it was Bucky, but it…wasn’t. The guy…I have no idea who he was. He was outfitted in black, a little more military than a burglar…and he had an ugly octopus tattoo.”

“Shit,” Steve and Sam swore in unison.

“Bucky took care of him. Non-lethally. He said the guy was nothing; that Hydra was just curious and didn’t have the resources, but he said…he said I should still tell you.”

Steve shook his head and got a _look_ on his face. “I’m so, so sor–”

“If you apologize like it’s your fault I’m going to come over there and kick you.”

Steve frowned at me and said, very deliberately, “I _am_ sorry.”

It took me a moment, because I was so full, but I got up, walked around the counter, kept my balance by holding his arm, and kicked him in the shin. My foot probably hurt more than his leg, but it was the principle.

“Did that make you feel better?” Steve asked as I sat down.

“No. Does anything?” I stared at him but let my hands tear apart a stray piece of paper. “Honestly Steve, _I’m_ more of a danger to myself than anybody else. Even fucking Hydra.”

“You don’t know what they’re capable of.”

“But I know what I am.” I poked my chest a few times and he seemed to get the point. “Would you take it back? Would you walk away from the bridge?”

He pressed his lips together tight for a moment. “That’s not fair.”

“Nothing is. But don’t worry– that was rhetorical.” I swallowed hard. “You can’t control what other people do. You control your own actions, what you want to do, and when other people are involved you have to weather the fallout. You don’t hit Hydra, and they hurt a lot of people. You hit them and save a lot of people, but they try to hit you back.” I half-lay on the counter and he leaned in, too, close enough to touch. I didn’t move back. “You walk away, and maybe I do or don’t jump– but if you stay, you know for sure I don’t, and that I can’t. It’s all…a _lot_. I know it feels like a lot. But you do what you can, Steve. There’s no magic move you make where you know what’s going to happen. What the right choice is.” I wiped at my stinging eyes. “It sucks.”

Steve’s laugh was short and watery and broken. “It does,” he said and draped himself over me. “It really fucking sucks.”

We stayed like that for a little while, until we managed to regain a sliver of dignity each.

“Hm,” Sam said, but his tone was gentle and his smile kind. “Sounds like yet _another_ smart person is telling you you’re not responsible for everything that happens to everyone.”

“Shut up.” Steve wiped his eyes. “You're all against me.”

Sam grinned. I patted Steve’s hand. “What are friends for.”

 

“They have a former SHIELD agent watching this place.”

“How do you keep getting in?” I asked, because I was curious. Bucky didn’t answer and I continued to stare at the knife on the table. It was a good thing I preferred to keep my blinds shut, I guessed. “I know he means well, but wasn’t a lot of SHIELD made up of Hydra?”

“Not all of it.” Bucky slid past me to sit on the couch. “This is a good one.”

“Hm.” I didn’t take my eyes away.

Bucky was quiet. “Is that for you?”

I stared at it a little longer. Then I pushed it away. “Not tonight.” As soon as I sat back, he got up and took it…somewhere. “It goes on the counter.”

He made a disgruntled noise. “How about a drawer?”

“Busybody,” I said but directed him to the junk drawer, where he spent enough time he might as well have been putting it in the walls. However unless he was going to chuck my knife block, toss my cutlery, and somehow remove my nails and teeth, the joke was on him. Desperate need was a motivating bitch sometimes.

But not tonight. My skin itched but I didn’t _need_ that kind of relief, so I let Bucky keep his satisfaction when he sat back down. And then we both just sat. He didn’t seem bothered by the silence, and I didn’t know how to distract myself. At first.

“Why did you approach me?” I asked. “Why did you keep coming back?”

He took a moment to think it over. “You’re Steve’s friend,” he said. “I don’t…I didn’t know what that all meant, but I knew it was important.”

“What does it mean now?”

Bucky was silent.

 

Bad night.

Bad night.

Bad night.

Bad night.

Bucky stays for all of them, even when I try to tell him I’m fine. He gives me a look like I’m the worst liar in the world, I burst into tears, and he pulls me in for a hug. I barely resist the urge to peel all of my own skin off, and I claw my way through the worst of it. And Bucky stays. He…takes care of me. Gets food. Leaves water.

It fucks with my head. I don’t know what to even do with that, or if I should do anything. I spend half a day arguing in my own head about kicking him out, only to exhaust myself into sleeping. I don’t bring it up.

It’s weird.

But not as weird when, days later, unwashed and exhausted but just _slightly_ more functional, I stumble out of my room and walk in on Steve and Bucky sitting so close on my couch that I’d feel less awkward if they were making out. Both of them have shining tear streaks on their faces and they’re so into each other they don’t even notice me.

And then they _do_ start kissing and I retreat right back into my room and just…lean against the door. Because yeah, I suspected, but it’s one thing to think Steve is missing someone who _might_ have been more than a friend, and another to walk in on a heartfelt romantic reunion.

It stuns me to normalcy for a moment. But then I start to think. I should…go. If I interrupt them– just the idea feels awful. I can go to the bridge; I can…

I curl up, frozen with indecision and trying to numb myself to the overwhelming _everything_.

A hand sets on my arm and I flinch. I notice there’s no light against the curtains now, and my lights are on, so it’s later. I don’t know how much later, though.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “How are you feeling?”

“Meh.”

“On a scale of one to teaching Steve what gifs are?”

“Heh,” I say without humor. I choose not to answer.

“Hm.” He nods decisively. “Come watch a movie with Steve and me.”

Oh _no_. “I…smell.”

“It’s okay; I’ve smelled worse,” he says, _picks me up_ (blanket and all), and takes me to the couch where Steve sits, food and drinks already set on the coffee table.

“Thanks Bucky. That’s…real sweet,” I say as he sits down next to Steve and plops me on his other side.

“Bucky’s kind of an asshole. In case you didn’t know,” Steve says cheerfully.

“That just means you’re made for each other,” I say.

“Yeah,” Steve says fondly.

My stomach clenches. “Maybe I should–”

“Shh!” Steve and Bucky both hush me as Bucky hits play.

I roll my eyes but settle in the best I can. I still feel on edge. Bucky is tense. Steve keeps intermittently hugging Bucky tight, like he can’t believe this is real. None of us are ‘okay.’ But right now, we do what we can to get there– whatever ‘okay’ means.

“I can’t believe you’re both against me now,” I mutter.

Steve reaches around to pat my hand, and then he holds it. “What are friends for.”


End file.
